The 70th Hunger Games
by veganhippychick
Summary: What happens when a pair of twins from district 7 are selected as tributes for the hunger games? And what if Johanna was their mentor? Not open to submission of tributes, but suggestions and reviews are greatly appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

Rowan's POV

_Thwack._

My axe slams into the trunk of a nearby tree, sinking the metal blade several inches into the flesh of the wood. I allow myself a brief smile of satisfaction before removing my blindfold and walking over to the tree to inspect my throw. _Not bad, _I think as I wrench the axe from the tree, _my aim and power are definitely improving, which will come in handy if—_I shake my head, clearing it of the dark and ominous thoughts that have been trying to crawl into my consciousness all morning. I refuse to even acknowledge the possibility. I return to the center of the clearing and replacing my blindfold, thinking only of my next throw. My arm is poised to strike when suddenly a sharp blow comes to the side of my head, knocking me to the ground. I whip off my blindfold and hold my axe high, ready to face my attacker, but am met with nothing but an empty clearing. I stand up shakily, rubbing my sore temple and trying to put the pieces together when another blow from my invisible assailant hits my stomach, the impact of which knocks the wind out of me and leaves me gasping on the ground. I stagger to my feet, my mind frantically searching for an answer. Suddenly, understanding hits me with icy clarity. _Alder,_ I think with horror, _no_. Fire scorches through my veins and panic begins creeping through my chest, its tendrils constricting my lungs and causing my breathing to become shallow and labored. Before I can even consider the possibilities, I'm running towards the town square, the ground flying by beneath me. Images flood my mind of Alder lying broken and bloody while surrounding peacekeepers grin with malicious glee. A sharp pain to both of my shins threatens to topple me over yet again, but somehow I manage to retain my balance, pushing my feet to run even faster.

I fly past the outskirts of the district, barely registering the surprised and questioning looks I receive from befuddled passersby. _I must look like a maniac, _I think, _red faced, running like a bat out of hell, giant axe in hand_. I smile slightly to myself at this thought, a gesture which I'm sure does little to abet the raving lunatic impression I must be giving off. All traces of humor, however, are wiped from my mind when I round the corner into the square and lay eyes on the crumpled heap that I immediately recognize as my brother.

"Alder!" I scream, but for some reason it only comes out as a whisper. I sprint to his side and fall down to my knees. I roll him onto his back and begin to assess the damage. He's unconscious and is bleeding from his left temple. He appears to be bruised in several places but there are no obviously broken bones. I'm about to call out for help when Alder's eyelids begin to flutter. I inhale sharply, my heart pounding in my chest, waiting for him to break through the fogginess of unconsciousness.

"Rowan?" he murmurs groggily, his eyes still closed.

"Yes Alder, it's me," I say, my voice flooding with relief, "You're ok now, they're gone." I lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. Alder sighs deeply, and all of the muscles in his body relax. Slowly, he manages to open his eyes, raising a hand to shield them from the brightness of the sun.

"I'm going to take you home now, ok? Can you stand?" He nods, his bright green eyes locking with mine. _Just be easy on me, _he thinks and I nod in response. With my help, I manage to get him upright, albeit with my shoulder supporting most of his weight. We wind our way back to the house stopping every now and then for Alder to rest and catch his breath. I finally get him inside and into bed, bandaging his head wound before collapsing into a chair at the kitchen table. I throw my axe onto the floor and rest my head in my hands, shaking with adrenaline.

"Is Alder gonna be ok?" squeaks a small voice from the doorway. I turn around to see my little sister, Holly walking towards me, her gray eyes filled with concern.

"Yes, he'll be fine," I say, trying to sound convincing but managing to sound only vaguely optimistic. Holly eyes me skeptically and comes over to sit in the chair beside me.

"Was it the peacekeepers again?" she asks sagely, burdened with a wisdom no five-year-old should have to bear.

"Yes," I sigh. "You know how tense they get before the reaping. Beating on Alder is just a way for them to relieve stress."

"But why do they pick on him?"

"Because he's an easy target."

"But he's strong," she states indignantly, "and fast."

"Yes, but he doesn't speak well. Words are difficult for him and they come slowly if at all. You and I are used to it, but other people see it as a sign of mental weakness."

"It's not true though!" she says, clearly enraged.

"I know that," I say gently, "but other people don't. And Alder is no match for a bunch of weapon-toting peacekeepers, no matter how strong he is." Holly seems to mull this over for a moment, twirling a strand of blond hair in her finger and biting on her lower lip.

"I don't understand why people are so mean," she says quietly.

"Me neither," I say, my eyes filling with tears. She nods solemnly and climbs into my lap, resting her head on my chest as I stroke her hair. We sit like that for a long time in silence, and the room fills with unspoken grievances.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own the Hunger Games.**

**Please read and review, I would love comments or suggestions!**

Ch.2

Rowan's POV

_Rowan_, Alder calls to me from the kitchen, rousing me out of sleep, _it's time to get up._

_ Fine, _I answer irritably, burying my face into the pillow, _I'll be there in a minute_. Sometimes having a psychic connection with your twin brother is just plain annoying. I roll onto my back and start to sit up, rubbing my bleary eyes with my fists. Suddenly, the memories of the previous afternoon flood my consciousness, and I spring out of bed, my heart pounding wildly. Images of Alder, beaten in the town square, bruised and bleeding, flash behind my eyes. I rush into the kitchen, only to find Alder smiling and making porridge for breakfast. His long chestnut hair is pulled back into his usual ponytail, his clear green eyes look alert and cheerful. He has a bandage on his head but appears otherwise uninjured. Only his careful movements reveal that he is still badly bruised beneath his clothing. Holly is sitting at the table, nonchalantly doing her homework while mom stares dreamily off into space.

"Rowan," my mother says warmly, "I'm glad you're up." She then returns to her own world, staring at the ceiling and grinning absentmindedly. A few years back she was injured in a lumber accident, a common occurrence in our district, leaving her with a slight mental handicap.

"But how—" I start, looking questioningly at Alder.

"Eat your porridge," he says, shoving a hot bowl into my hands and silencing my train of thought "need strength for reaping."

_There's no need to get mom and dad worried, _he tells me silently as he turns back to the stove, _They have enough on their minds with two teenage children going to the reaping today_._ Holly agrees with me. _

I look over to where Holly is sitting and, sure enough, she is giving me a look that needs no psychic connection to understand

_Fair enough, _I say in return, taking a seat at the table and shoveling the hot grain into my mouth, _but how did you explain away that bandage?_

_ I told them I got hit in the head with a branch at work. It wouldn't be the first time that sort of thing has happened._

_ True, _I say, casting a glance towards my mother, _it certainly wouldn't. _Just then my father hobbles in and takes a seat at the table. Just as my mother has lost her grip on reality to the lumber industry, my father has lost a leg.

"How's it goin freckles?" He asks me teasingly.

"Dad, I've lost most of my freckles over the years so the nickname doesn't actually make sense anymore," I shoot back.

"You've still got quite a few on your face from what I can see," he laughs. I give him my best playful death glare, tuck my short mahogany hair behind my ears and continue eating my porridge. Alder comes and sits beside me, working on his own bowl. An uneasy silence descends on the room.

"I've got a math test tomorrow," Holly pipes up, coming to the rescue. Holly's schooling is always a safe topic, since she's the genius of the family. At five years old she's already been put in classes with the eight and nine year olds and is acing every class.

"I'm sure you'll do great, sweetheart," my dad says heartily, and the rest of us nod in response. This is the way we deal with the reaping every year. Light conversation and forced pleasantries. None of us want to talk about it, as if invoking its name might cause it to inflict its wrath upon us. As if it was a living thing.

"Well, Alder and I should probably get ready," I say, standing. My father's brow creases with concern.

"Yes," he says, barely concealing his worry, "you should." Before anyone can say anything more, I slip into my room and shut the door. Anxiety begins building in my stomach, tightening its hold as I change into my green reaping dress and clip back my hair. Since both of my parents are injured and unable to work, Alder and I have to support the family financially. We both work in the woods as lumber jacks with the rest of the district, but the wage is very small and the labor is hard. In order to supplement our family's income, we've both had to take out large quantities of tesserae. Add that to the fact that there are two of us and the odds are not in our family's favor. Thankfully, we're only fifteen, but I've seen many kids with much better chances than us be sent to the games. I walk into the kitchen, catching sight of Alder in his reaping day clothes. He looks quite dashing in his black suit and green shirt, despite the large bandage on his head.

_You look beautiful, _I tell him, and he blushes a deep red. I smile in spite of myself. We say a quick goodbye to the family, promising to meet up with them after the reaping and head out the door. Once we've past the threshold, Alder grabs my hand, giving it a quick, warm squeeze. We walk together towards the reaping, each of us attempting to channel strength into the other.


End file.
